POETRY PAGE TEN
"Harbinger"
Imagine . . .
A lightening flash from east to west
Beginning the great and final test
Furious winds and mangled trees
Chaotic thunder and severed seas
Falling stars in the twilight hour
Perplexity reigns, the condition dour
Freezing gusts with hailstones spinning
Off with the old to a new beginning
The earth is trembling beneath our feet
Completing man’s ironic mete
Sticks and stones from the deep dark well
Quandary sure as no tongue can tell
A shadow drifts o’re the clear blue lake
While souls are won by the wicked snake
Moon ushers the tide then veils her face
Epiphany whispers, “Seek eminent grace”
The elements plead with the lofty lords
Freedom will come with The King Of Swords
Imagine . . . .
"Driftwood"
I'm like a piece of driftwood
Shaped by the flow,
Carried by the current
Whether swift or slow.
The tide is shallow, the current's deep
A drifter has no time for sleep . . .
Until it reaches a distant shore
Where it will find an open door,
And unknown hands will draw it in,
So it shall never drift again . . .
Upon display for all to see,
I'm like a piece of driftwood,
But keep your hands off me . . . .
"Frozen
In Time"
The first time I saw you, I felt the pain;
The next time I saw you was exactly the same.
A face without expression was what I beheld...
And an aura of death that I felt so well.
Your face was fixed ... it was frozen in time;
What happened to you beyond the enemy line?
By the tenth time I saw you, I knew what was plain;
Your mind was paralyzed by a serious war game.
Your once handsome body was ripped away
With chemical gas... killing you today.
You died two long decades ago;
You were dead and didn't know.
You were robbed of all that you once had,
Now left to wander in a world gone mad.
I’m sorry; I feel the pain should be mine---
But yours is the face frozen in time.
(for a
Marine I met at the VA Hosp. 1994. I don't even know his name).
"Harvest"
While I
linger in the country air
Spirits are dancing everywhere
Working hard in the hot August sun
Reaping what was once begun
I have sown all I can throw
Into the Harvest I now go.
"Undercurrents"
Thoughts
of now and yesteryear
Have made things more than ever clear.
Even as I sit and write, I wonder what I seek tonight
Though events
occur to set our track
Ruins desire and holds us back . . .
Until we conjure within our minds
Truth or lies will make us blind---
Hastily we look but cannot find. . .
When will we ever understand
Infinity lies within our hand?
Love is lost and love is found, but
Lust still holds a heart not sound.
Seldom is a virtual state
Ever so swiftly,
The time is late.
Yesterday, you had a sweet dream
Or so it was at a moment's seam.
Undercurrents from the river brought
Frozen somewhere in a darkened thought, you
Ran from things that you not ought.
Everything has a purpose or reason, and
Everyone has committed treason . . . .
(The Truth Will Set You Free)
"Me
& Mine"
As I
lay in slumber, in the arms of the pine,
I was drowned by images from the pages of time.
All so conquering & courageous were we---
Spirited and sharp, my siblings and me.
Wild were the woodlands where we did roam,
Meager, yet full, was the place we called “Home.”
Pop fetched the vittles, and Ma cooked them up,
Our pockets were empty, but not so our cup!
We prevailed through the drought and flood,
Nothing is stronger than the Living Blood. . .
Together in thickness, and there in the thin,
What would I not give to be there again?
And still in the midst of the trees of pine,
Linger the memories of me, and of mine.
The wind in the trees carried me ’round
To far better places than cities or town.
The unending river approved of our fun,
And so did the meadows where we did run . . .
I understand now what I didn’t back then -
“Peace comes easy --- simplicity’s a friend.”
Ever so innocent, with no thought of grief;
Indeed, such happiness was much too brief.
The years have come, and they have went;
It was a lovely dream that an angel sent . . .
Then I awoke, and I knew I’d been shown:
We were quite wealthy in our humble home.
I have a dear memory that no one can take,
And a mighty tree on which no bough will break.
Again I shall climb . . . up the old pine tree -
To seize a fond glimpse of my kindred and me . . . .
© 2001 by
Cathlyn Cross- Leming (All rights reserved)
All material written here is
my sole original work
